


Lines and Shapes

by ester_inc



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, I'm just saying, Steve knows how to work a charcoal stick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ester_inc/pseuds/ester_inc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve doesn't need words to express his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lines and Shapes

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Линии и формы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8307241) by [faikit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faikit/pseuds/faikit)



Steve tried to focus on the scrape of charcoal on paper, tried to think of Natasha as lines and geometrical shapes. She was at his fingertips; the dip of her waist, the curve of her breasts and thighs, the way her hair curled, were all his to trace, if only with his eyes.

It wasn't the first time he'd drawn her. He'd been practicing by making sketches of people he knew, people he saw, people he remembered. There were, perhaps, more sketches of Natasha than any other. He had known that sooner or later, she would notice the discrepancy, but hadn't been able to stop the habit of faithfully translating on paper the various, shifting lines she consisted of.

He had drawn her before, yes, many times -- but not like this.

He looked up at her over the sketchbook and then back to the paper; every time he did so, she was looking right at him, steady and a little bit challenging. She looked perfectly composed, as comfortable under his gaze as he was uncomfortable under hers.

His skin was flushed; he had to concentrate not to grip his stick of charcoal too hard. He hadn't had a chance to practice nude figure drawing in a long time, not since before the war, and it hadn't been like this, back then. It had been about practicing and learning, about training his eyes and his mind to see the world in a way his hand could follow.

None of the models had been Natasha.

She didn't shift or fidget or give any indication she couldn't stay perfectly still for the rest of the day if needed and be none the worse for it. Just because she could do it didn't mean she should, though, and so Steve had insisted on taking breaks, studiously not looking as she stretched, and just as studiously refusing to show her the unfinished work.

When they were almost done, Steve found himself lingering on unimportant details longer than was strictly speaking necessary, and was upset at himself when he realized it. He put the stick of charcoal, shortened by use, gently aside and fingered the edges of the paper. Looking at the black and white woman instead of the flesh and blood one, he said --

"It's finished."

Natasha was already getting up, coming to stand next to him, and without thinking, Steve raised the sketchbook up to his chest to shield it from her gaze. He immediately felt foolish for it, but couldn't quite convince himself to let go and show it to her just yet.

"Can I see?" Natasha asked, no judgment or even curiosity in her voice, and somehow that helped.

Steve eased his grip on the sketchbook and turned it a little so Natasha could see. She didn't say anything at first, and when Steve looked up at her, her expression was inscrutable. Steve was -- he was nervous; there was no denying it, not with the way his heart was racing.

Natasha's voice, when she finally spoke, was soft. "It's really good." She skimmed her fingers over the picture, following the lines without touching them. "This is how you see me?"

Steve thought of those quick sketches he'd done of her. Her profile, her smile, the shape of her eyes; a gun in her hands, her body twisting in mid-air, the way she stood when she was about to enter a fight; her confidence and strength and skill.

In this new drawing, Natasha wasn't wearing a stitch, nor was she armed, but apart from the time Steve had spent on it, it wasn't so very different from the ones that had come before it.

"I can only draw what I see," Steve said.

There was a touch against his cheek, then, Natasha's fingertips cool against his heated skin. She was smiling; it was mostly in her eyes. Slowly, giving him time to push her away if he so wished, she took the sketchbook, set it aside, and straddled his lap.

Steve inhaled sharply, feeling his face flush anew. Natasha was still nude -- she was nude while _straddling his lap_ \-- and he didn't know what to do with his hands. Luckily, Natasha did, taking them in her smaller ones and pressing them, palms down, against her thighs, dragging them up to her waist. Her skin was warm and smooth, and Steve was leaving smudges of charcoal everywhere he touched.

"I'm glad I offered to model for you," Natasha said, and leaned down to kiss him, slow and wet and indulgent.


End file.
